Lucky
by R2s Muse
Summary: Isabela thinks she's out of her depth when called upon to help to a friend. A short drabble.


_**Lucky **_

by R2s Muse

_**Warning: Oblique reference to domestic violence.**_

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Isabela yawned as she emerged from her room and headed down the creaky stairs to the Hanged Man's noisy taproom. Judging from the crowded tables, she assumed it must be lunchtime. She sauntered up to the bar to order some food herself and the bartender Korff nodded in greeting.

"Glad you showed up. Your friend, I think, needs a talking to." He nodded toward a distant table against the wall. Turning to look, Isabela saw a red head of hair down on the table, surrounded by several empty glass tankards. The red hair had come loose from the band that normally held it back and so it fell in a curtain across the patron's face. But, Isabela would recognize that set of manly shoulders anywhere.

"Well, she's not really my _friend—_"

"Varric's been out today, or I'd send him. But, someone needs to talk to her. Can't have the Captain of the Guard in that state. Just not right."

Isabela frowned. "It couldn't possibly be _that_ bad," she mumbled to herself. She took a deep breath and headed toward Aveline.

When she reached the table, Isabela stopped to survey the damage and Aveline stirred. The guardswoman lifted her head and peered unsteadily at Isabela.

"Look who finally emerged from her room. Late night at the whorehouse, strumpet?" Aveline slurred.

Isabela slid into the bench across from her, eyebrows raised in amusement. "Would never have pegged you for a mean drunk, big girl."

"And, look who's talking. You drink here every day. You follow only your own rules. You don't depend on anyone. Just yourself. No one has ever told you who to be."

Isabela glanced uneasily around the room, looking desperately for a sign of Varric. Or anyone who could take over. Whatever had taken hold of Aveline, it was clearly more than Isabela was capable of handling. She took a stab at something that sounded remotely comforting. At least, inside her head it did. "And you're exactly who you want to be. Aveline. Guard-Captain. Career soldier. General stick in the mud."

A sudden look of hope sprang to Aveline's bleary eyes. Then she banged her hand on the table loudly, startling the patrons at the next table. "Exactly! That's who I am. I have a career. I'm not a mother."

Isabela's brow furrowed in puzzlement, not sure she had heard Aveline properly. "Whoa, there. What are you on about?" Aveline's eyes suddenly welled up. Inwardly, Isabela cringed in horror. _No, not tears. Please!_

"Right, I'm a soldier." Aveline sniffed pathetically. "I'm not capable of being a mother."

Isabela wracked her brain for any kind of a response, still uncertain where Aveline was going with this. Again she glanced longingly at the door of the tavern, but no Varric. "So, you and Donnic have been trying to get pregnant?" she asked, even while she cursed herself for getting further involved in this awkward scene.

Aveline gave a bitter bark of laughter. "Oh no. Certainly not trying, but unfortunately succeeding. And, I have no idea what to do." She sniffed again, sounding so lost Isabela couldn't help but feel sorry for her. The fearless Guard-Captain, suddenly afraid.

"I see."

Aveline gave a teary laugh. "Do you? You know, I don't get it. For all the men traipsing in and out your door, how is it you've been so lucky?"

Isabela gave her measuring look, not answering for a long moment. "_Lucky_." She looked down, considering for a moment what to say. "You know, I was married once."

Aveline snorted. "Right. Didn't you kill him or something?"

"Erm. Yes." Her lips twisted ironically. "Yes, I did. You know, I was also . . . pregnant . . . once."

The smile slowly fell from Aveline's face as she waited for the pirate to continue.

Isabela went on in a low, matter-of-fact voice, as if she were telling a story, any story, about anyone. It was a little easier that way. A little. "Yes, my mother sold me to him when I was quite young. One of the first things he did was to get me knocked up, sign of his prowess, and all that."

The coarse grain of the table's wooden surface blurred, giving way to bright white tiles with an abstract, cobalt blue sun painted at their center. The expensive Antivan tiles had always been so perfectly polished that they practically glowed in the late afternoon sun. "I just remember how huge and awkward I felt, teetering around like that. Too awkward, as it turns out. After one of his usual, jealous tirades about how worthless I was and how the child was probably someone else's, blah blah, there was a bit of a scuffle. Unfortunately, though, I happened to be standing near the top of the stairs." She paused for a moment, lost in her only truly clear memory from that day. The swirling cobalt design on the cold Antivan tiles lining each step of that endless staircase.

"It wasn't until a week or so later, when I finally emerged from the fever, that the healer told me the child was gone. And, I'd never be able to have another."

Finally, she looked up at Aveline and pulled her lips into a small, tight smile. "So, to answer your question, it hasn't really been a matter of being . . . lucky."

Aveline suddenly reached out and squeezed her clenched fist where it sat on the table between them. Looking down at their hands in surprise, Isabela noticed for the first time a small drip of water fall on to her forearm. Puzzled, she brought her fingertips to her cheek and found it wet. She cleared her throat and gave herself a shake. "Bloody roof must have a leak."

"I'm sorry," Aveline said solemnly.

Isabela jerked her hand free, dashing the wetness from her face, and forced a laugh. "Don't be. It was just what I needed. My value as a wife plummeted after that, which, shall we say, cleared what was left of my conscience for my final bid for freedom. Besides, look at the life I lead. For me, children were never really going to be in the cards anyway." She shrugged. "But, it doesn't make me more or less of a woman. It's just a certain choice that unfortunately was taken out of my hands. A choice you still have, by the way."

"True. I don't know. I just can't imagine being Guard-Captain and having a baby. I don't know how to do both."

"What bullshit!" Isabela exclaimed. "Aveline, you'll still be you. Having a baby won't suddenly rot your brain or weaken your sword arm. Plus, if anyone can do both, it would be you. Especially with that damned attentive husband of yours. What does he think of all this, by the way?"

"He doesn't know yet."

Isabela chuckled. "Well, that will be an interesting surprise, no doubt. Just make sure he's somewhere padded."

Aveline sighed. "I suppose . . . we have talked in the past about children. But, it was always so abstract. I never really thought about how it would affect everything."

"To be honest, Aveline. I have a hard time imagining someone more suited to motherhood than you. I mean, look at your hips."

Aveline glared at her in mock indignation and then had to chuckle in the face of Isabela's twinkling eyes.

Aveline automatically reached out for the last full tankard, but Isabela was faster, snatching it away and downing it in almost a single gulp. She wiped her mouth noisily and then snapped for the barmaid's attention. "Another of these." She held up the empty tankard. "And a large glass of water for my friend here."

Aveline gave her a long look and then nodded her head thoughtfully. "Thank you. Perhaps I am luckier than I realized."

Isabela rolled her eyes. "Let's just hope your children are lucky, too, and take after Donnic."

"So long as they avoid any undue influence from you, slattern, they should turn out fine," Aveline retorted.

"That's my girl!" Isabela said with a wink.

_**Fin**_

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**A/N:** I love Aveline and Isabela's friendship so I tried to take a crack at writing them a year or two ago. Decided to finally declare it done, for better or for worse.


End file.
